


Wasted Time

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Series: The 70s Series by Mona Ramsey [3]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Alternate Universes, Angst, Drama, M/M, Multiple Partners, Partner Betrayal, Series: The 70s Series, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-11-04
Updated: 1999-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:25:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim's moving on.  Blair's still wired, and running from his problems the only way he knows how. . .<br/>This story is a sequel to How Deep Is Your Love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wasted Time

**Author's Note:**

> A/U. Drug use. Oh, and The Eagles, this time.

## Wasted Time

by Mona Ramsey

* * *

"Wasted Time"  
by MonaR.  
monaram@yahoo.com 

well, baby, there you stand  
with your little head down in your hand  
oh my god, you can't believe  
it's happening again  
your baby's gone and you're all alone  
and it looks like the end 

The back room of the bar was dark - as the back rooms of these places always were. The anonymity and casualness of the surroundings blended perfectly in with the anonymity and casualness of the sex that could be found therein. 

Once beyond the curtain that separated this little world from the brighter-lit main bar area, with the jukebox and polished mirrors and posing men, it was like a descent into the underworld. In this near-black interior, it was no problem to find a willing hand, or mouth, or body, or whatever was required. He knew that he could do it; satisfy the urges that rested deep within him. But he had been stronger than this before, before - 

He brushed past nameless and faceless men, moving deeper into the darkness. A hand reached out to him, unzipping his pants and sliding them down over the curve of his ass. Other, warmer hands joined the first, unbuttoning and lifting his shirt, caressing him, rough and gentle, and he closed his eyes. He didn't really need to - there was no way to make out anything in here, anyway - but it made him feel better. Lips brushed against his mouth, but he rebuffed them, pushing the head down instead to nuzzle at his nipples. As long as there were no kisses, then it didn't mean anything. 

A warm, wet mouth captured his erection, licking the entire tender underside, and he groaned, thrusting his hips almost unconsciously forward. He could feel the tickle of facial hair against his stomach and groin as his unknown lover deep-throated him, using powerful throat muscles to milk the come from his body. A capsule was popped under his nose, and he inhaled deeply, the instantaneous rush of blood to his head rivalling that centred in his cock. He sagged a little, fighting the desperate urge to giggle, he felt so light-headed and free. And then, just when he thought that he'd reached the threshold of stimulation that his sensitized body could handle, two wet fingers thrust into his ass, and he felt nirvana - 

He came, biting his lip so hard that he thought he'd break the skin in an attempt not to pass out from the sheer bliss of coming, coming, coming, into nothingness. He knew that it was only the arms of the stranger holding him that kept him from hitting the floor, and he held on, until he thought that he could trust his watery knees again. 

Then it began, the overwhelming shame of the act, the darkness inside him as he recognized his weakness, looked straight into the heart of it, and he couldn't pull his clothing on again fast enough, ducking his head to hide his flaming face as he raced out of the bar. The strangers who had given him pleasure had already moved on to the next warm body, and didn't even seem to notice him as he ran away. 

He didn't stop until he'd made his way through the crowd of people who were cruising each other and drinking themselves enough courage to try the back room. Outside once again, he leaned against the midnight-cool brick of the bar and ran a shaking hand through his hair. /Jesus, Blair,/ he thought to himself, /What the hell are you doing?/ 

* * *

and you're back out on the street  
and you're tryin' to remember  
how do you start it over?  
you don't know if you can  
you don't care much  
for a stranger's touch  
but you can't hold your man 

* * *

Jim sat in his truck in the parking lot of the bar in Madison for fifteen minutes before he started it back up, realizing that sex just wasn't going to do it for him, not this time. He backed up and pulled out, cursing himself for wasting gas to drive all this way and back, with nothing to show for it. 

"Dammit, Ellison! Snap out of it! He doesn't want you, and there's nothing that you can do about that. So try focusing on the things that you _can_ do something about, for a change." 

Four more days and it would be Labour Day. The Police Department would be holding their annual end-of-summer barbecue, and he had been tempted to offer to work that day, but decided that he had enough time in to skip the shift and go and try to have some fun, like a normal human being. At least he wouldn't have to spend the time beforehand trying to convince Blair to come with him, not that he would have stood a chance in hell of getting him to say yes. For the three months that they were together, he'd met two or three of Blair's friends, always by accident, and Blair had met none of his, always coming up with a convenient excuse to avoid seeing anyone. The time alone would have been welcome, if it hadn't felt so much like they were hiding. As far as the outside world was concerned, they never existed. Jim wondered vaguely if they'd actually existed outside of his mind at all. 

He pulled the truck into the garage and locked it up. He wandered lazily up to his apartment, shucking his jacket and hanging it by the door, peering into the fridge for anything like a midnight snack. There was still plants and herbs in there from when Blair had been there. Struck with a sudden burst of energy, he went through the place meticulously, throwing out food, tea, herbs with abandon. He packed up the few clothes that Blair had left, tossed the toothbrush by the sink, sifted through his records. Finally, when everything in the place was his alone, he stopped, and sank into the couch. Nothing was left of Blair in the place - it was like he'd never been there. He popped the tab on a beer and raised it. "To you, Blair. Have a good life." 

* * *

you never thought you'd be alone  
this far down the line  
and I know what's been on your mind  
you're afraid it's all been wasted time 

* * *

"Man, you look like you could use a pick-me-up." 

Blair looked over at his roommate, H, lying on the floor of his room. There was drug paraphernalia scattered around the place - spoons, a syringe, a rubber tourniquet, a couple of foil packets. Blair paused in the doorway. "Yeah, I think I could." 

"Beer's in the fridge." 

"I think I'll have what you're having," Blair said, settling down cross-legged on the floor. 

H looked at him incredulously. 

"I've got money," Blair said. 

"Hey, man, you know that's not a problem. We're friends, right? But you've never seemed the trip-the-light-fantastic type, if you know what I mean. Are you sure you want some?" 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Blair asked, outraged. He felt suddenly as if every pore of his body was betraying him, sweating out the tell-tale signs of male sex. 

"Hey, chill out, man! Jeez, I'm just asking. You're so uptight I'd swear you'd been using already tonight." 

"Just something to take the edge off, H." Blair lay down on the floor, rolling up the sleeve on his shirt. 

"Look, man, I don't know about this - " 

"H, jesus! You're not my mom, okay? Give me that." Blair took the syringe out of H's hand and gingerly tapped a vein in his arm, sliding the silvered tip in and feeling the liquid heat slowly effuse his body. Then, reality hit. His stomach cramped, and he rolled into a fetal position, H holding his arms down and taking the needle away before it broke under his skin. He cried and sweated for a few moments, his body jerking in rebellion to the drug. 

"You okay?" H asked him, preparing another spoonful. 

"Never better." Feeling separated from his body, he nevertheless commanded enough control to move to where he'd dropped his jacket, ripping open the baggie that held his last supply of bennies. "You want one?" he asked, holding the bag out to H. 

"Are you kidding?" H asked, snapping his lighter shut. "That shit'll kill you." 

It took Blair a good ten minutes to stop laughing hard enough to take a pill. 

* * *

the autumn leaves have got you thinking  
about the first time that you fell  
you didn't love the boy too much  
no no, you just loved the boy too well  
farewell 

* * *

"So you _have_ decided to try and join the land of the living." 

Jim looked at Simon and had to smile. No matter what happened in his life - he could be hit and hurt and bleeding and wounded - Simon was always there, hassling him, giving him a hard time. He miss the son-of-a-bitch if anything ever happened to him. 

"Of course I'm here," Jim said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to pull himself out of his cocoon and join in one of the Department outings. "It wouldn't be a party without me, would it?" 

Simon looked at him speculatively. "So you're up for football?" 

"I have a feeling I've just been drafted." 

"Yes, sir, Sergeant, sir." Simon snapped him a salute. "You're playing for me. Now get your ass in gear and get ready to go long. 

Jim smiled. "Yes, _sir_!" 

The two men walked towards the field, tossing a ball back and forth. 

* * *

The game was rough-and-tumble, as befit men who were incapable of admitting to themselves or anyone else that they weren't superheroes. Cops were even worse in that respect than the guys he'd known in the military, Jim realized. The same macho attitude that actually helped to save lives in their day to day jobs was expended out there on the field. 

He hit the ground again, suddenly feeling every minute of his age in a way that he hadn't since he'd been a tackle on his high school football team. Then, it had been a good thing - he was young, happy, and stupid, seventeen, sure that he had the world in front of him, if only he could find the right girl, get laid, get married, have a house full of kids - 

Then had come Vietnam, and he'd come to understand that "love" didn't necessarily mean a house in the suburbs and a desk job he hated and two kids he didn't understand. Love could mean a _man_ \- tough and hard and hot and unyielding, and it could mean comfort and strength and power, all together. And as soon as Jim had realized that, he'd looked at the world differently, stopped looking at what was expected of him, and started figuring out what _he_ expected. 

But it wasn't that easy for other people, and he knew it. He knew that there were slurs and scars and prejudices that couldn't be seen on most of the people that were around him, and he knew who he could trust, at least until he'd trusted a kid with curly hair and eyes the colour of a cloudless sky with his heart. When he picked it up again, just a little more battered and bruised than the time before, he pocketed it away, determined not to give it away again unless he was _sure_ that it was the real thing. 

* * *

so you live from day to day  
and you dream about tomorrow, oh  
and the hours go by like minutes  
and the shadows come to stay  
so you take a little something  
to make them go away 

* * *

His tongue felt as if someone had been using it to clean a carpet, his brain was fogged and fuzzy. He woke up on the floor beside his bed, wrapped around someone he didn't recognize. She might have been one of his roommates; he wasn't quite sure. He couldn't remember clearly what he'd done the night before, but whatever it was, it was a hell of a party. 

He stretched, trying to remember what he had to do this morning. At least, he hoped that it was still morning. The Labour Day blast that he went to had been so overpowering that he didn't even know if he was on the right week or not. 

Suddenly realizing that it was the first day of the fall term of classes and he was expected at school, he made an attempt to get up, rolling his reluctant, unconscious partner to the side. She moaned a little before she hit the floor again, and then went back to sleep. Blair decided that it could probably wait until later to find out what her name was - with any luck, she'd be gone by the time he got back. 

He stumbled into the bathroom, trying to coax his eyes into focus. At least the shower was working again - it beat trying to clean himself up out of a hangover in the sink. He stepped in and made the water as hot as he could, just resting underneath the spray for a few thankful moments of peace. 

He didn't even open his eyes when he felt the slight breeze strike his wet skin, nor when the curtain was pulled back and he heard another person climb in with him. He leaned back gratefully into the strong arms, and rested his head on the chest of his lover. 

Jim whispered into his ear, "I thought I might find you here." 

"It's where I always come." 

"Not always," Jim smiled. "The last time you came - " 

Blair moved his hands up, until they were resting on Jim's broad shoulders, and opened his mouth, inviting a kiss. "The last time I came, I was in your mouth," he said, when they'd broken the kiss. 

"I love the feel of you in my mouth." 

"I love - " 

Bam! The pounding on the door woke him from his reverie. "Blair, jeez! You gonna stay in there all day? Save some warm water for the rest of us, wouldja?" 

"I'll be right out," Blair called, weakly, willing his erection away. He was only mildly surprised that he could even muster one up, he hurt so much. Nothing that a few pills and several pots of tea couldn't cure, however. He ducked his head under the spray again, the pouring water driving away the pounding on the outside as well as that inside. 

* * *

and I could have done so many things, baby  
if I could only stop my mind  
from wond'rin' what I left behind  
and from worryin' 'bout this wasted time 

* * *

"Ellison." He paused for a couple of minutes. No heavy breathing, no nothing could be heard on the end of the line. "Hello?" 

Still nothing. Shaking his head, he hung up the line, just as Simon came over to his desk. 

"You up for dinner this weekend?" 

"You don't have to babysit me all the time, you know, Simon," Jim said, smiling. 

"It's Sherry," Simon said, defensively. "She's worried about you." 

"Uh-huh. _She's_ worried about me." He picked up a file off of his desk and walked to the cabinets along the wall. 

"I've known you for twenty years, Jim. I'm used to looking at your ugly mug. I'd like to see what you call a smile on it again one of these days." 

"I'm fine, Simon. Really. I'm just going to take it at my own pace, if you don't mind." He slid the file cabinet shut. "I'd love to have dinner, as a matter of fact." 

"Great. I'll let her know." 

"Anything that I can bring?" 

"Just yourself. And some dessert, if you get a chance." 

"My pleasure." 

"We might even get a last barbecue out of the season." Simon smiled at him again, and went back into his office. 

Jim laughed when he saw the door shut. Simon happy and in love was nothing like Captain Banks - all business, all seriousness. Jim had been worried about him after his first marriage didn't work out - it had been really hard, going through the divorce. He realized that Simon was doing for him, now, exactly what Jim had done back then. They were helping each other get over a loss. He wondered for a moment if there was anyone there to help Blair. 

"It's not your problem anymore, Ellison," he muttered to himself, picking up another case file and opening it on the desk. "If he wants help, he knows where to get it." 

* * *

ooh, another love had come and gone  
ooh, and the years keep rushing on  
I remember what you told me  
before you went out on your own  
sometimes to keep it together  
we got to leave it alone 

* * *

Sometimes he just needed to hear the voice. It was usually enough for him to get through the day. Once, he'd actually got into his car and driven all the way over to his apartment, waiting down on the street for hours, watching the silhouette against the windowshade. He'd seen him take his shirt off in front of that window, and could almost feel the warm skin underneath once again. He closed his eyes against the response that his body had to the remembrance of that touch. 

Other touches, so much alike and yet so completely different from what he wanted, hadn't been nearly close enough to the ones that he had known, such a short while ago. Those three months were becoming like a dream to him, as the memories flew farther and farther away from his reality. 

He reached a shaking hand over across the seat of his car, into the glove box, panicking when he realized it was empty again. Dammit! He was sure that someone was stealing from him, he just couldn't figure out who it was. He'd catch the person in the act and make them sorry, eventually. 

A pat of his pockets yielded another supply of the pills that were keeping him going. He'd been so cold all the time lately that he'd taken to wearing the jacket almost constantly - it was big and shielded him from the elements. The fact that it hid his continuing weight loss was an added bonus, too - although he kept getting strange looks from his colleagues at the school, and his faculty advisor had gone so far as to sit him down and ask him if there was something wrong. He'd begged off with a pretty good sob story about troubles in his family, leaving enough clues that the guy let him off the hook. He'd suggested that maybe Blair look into a leave of absence, at least until he could pull himself together. Blair had nodded at the suggestion. Time off. Yeah. Give him more hours in the day to honour his obsession. 

The light clicked off, finally. He waited the few minutes until the light in the bedroom turned on. The ritual was the same, every night - in the living room until after the late news, then the bathroom, then upstairs. Read for a little while \- the shortest was ten minutes, the longest, over an hour - then sleep. Blissful sleep. Blair felt a little angry at times that he could just crawl into bed and sleep and get up and do everything all over again. 

He just didn't know what he'd do the night that Jim crawled into that bed with someone else. . . 

* * *

so you can get on with your search, baby  
and I can get on with mine  
and maybe someday we will find  
that it wasn't really wasted time. 

* * *

"Ellison." 

Nothing. 

"Look, I'm getting tired of this. You want to live up to your reputation, at least breathe hard, or something. This silence is getting really old." 

A few more seconds passed. 

Jim sighed. "I'm hanging up." 

"Wait." 

"Hello?" 

"Jim?" 

Jesus. His heart leapt into his throat, and he had to swallow hard to get his voice past it. "Blair?" 

The End  
MonaR. 


End file.
